Crom. Fond Girl, because he has the Art of fawning, Dissembling to the height, can sooth and smile, Profess, and sometimes weep:— No, he’ll betray him, as he did thy Brother; _Richard_ the Fourth was thus deluded by him. No, let him swear and promise what he will, They are but steps to his own ambitious End; And only makes the Fool, thy credulous Husband, A silly deluded Property. Enter _Fleetwood_. Fleet. My honour’d Mother, I am glad to find you here; I hope we shall reconcile things between ye. Verily we should live in Brotherly Love together; come, ingeniously, you shall be Friends, my Lady Mother. Crom. Curse on th’ occasion of thy being a Kin to me. Fleet. Why, an please ye, forsooth, Madam? Crom. My Daughter had a Husband, Worthy the Title of my Son-in-Law; _Ireton_, my best of Sons: he’d Wit and Courage, 366 And with his Counsels, rais’d our House to Honours, Which thy impolitick Easiness pulls down: And whilst you should be gaining Crowns and Kingdoms, Art poorly couzening of the World with fruitless Prayers. Fleet. Nay, I’ll warrant you, Madam, when there is any gadly Mischief to be done, I am as forward as the best; but ’tis good to take the Lard along with us in every thing. I profess ingeniously, as I am an honest Man, verily—ne’er stir—I shall act as becomes a good Christian. Crom. A good Coxcomb. Do’st thou not see her reverend Highness there, That Minion now assumes that glorious Title I once, and my Son _Richard’s_ Wife enjoy’d, Whilst I am call’d the Night-mare of the Commonwealth? But wou’d I were, I’d so hag-ride the perjur’d Slaves, Who took so many Oaths of true Allegiance To my great Husband first, then to _Richard_— Who, whilst they reign’d, were most illustrious, Most high and mighty Princes; whilst fawning Poets Write Panegyricks on ’em; and yet no sooner was The wondrous Hero dead, but all his glorious Titles fell to Monster of Mankind, Murderer Of Piety, Traytor to Heaven and Goodness. Fleet. Who calls him so? Pray take their Names down: I profess ingeniously, forsooth, Madam, verily I’ll order ’em, as I am here I will. Crom. Thou, alas! they scorn so poor a thing as thou. Fleet. Do they ingeniously? I’ll be even with ’em, forsooth, Mother, as I am here I will, and there’s an end on’t. Crom. I wou’d there were an end of our Disgrace and Shame, Which is but just begun, I fear. What will become of that fair Monument Thy careful Father did erect for thee, [To L. _Fleetwood_. Yet whilst he liv’d, next to thy Husband _Ireton_, 367 Lest none shou’d do it for thee after he were dead; The Malice of proud _Lambert_ will destroy all. Fleet. I profess, Madam, you mistake my good Lord _Lambert_, he’s an honest Man, and fears the Lard; he tells me I am to be the Man; verily he does, after all’s done. Cram. Yes, after all’s done, thou art the Man to be pointed at. Fleet. Nay, ingeniously, I scorn the Words, so I do: I know the great Work of Salvation to the Nation is to be wrought by me, verily.